


Nightmares

by VioletArrows



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blackrock Chronicles, Creepypasta, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Insomnia, Rythian - Freeform, The Queen of The End - Freeform, Zoey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 19:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletArrows/pseuds/VioletArrows
Summary: Oh, to have a dreamless sleep.





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Posted years ago on Tumblr.

Rythian sat on the floor by his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his fingers raking across his sweating scalp. He needed sleep so badly, but that was where he wasn’t allowed any kind of peace. The nightmares weren’t real. He was an adult. This shouldn’t be so fucking difficult.

But without fail, after an hour or two of drifting in and out of blissful unconsciousness and ‘maybe this time will be different’, it felt like the ‘nothingness’ would finally claim him and drag him down to _that place_. The place that he’d been before more than once, and every time was more and more difficult to leave. He knew the next time he wouldn’t be able to make it back, and then, even death wouldn’t be a reprieve.

The End wasn’t that much of a terror the first time he’d been. He was fortunate enough for the portal to drop him on a small, but stable island well away from where all the magic happened. The Enderdragon hadn’t seen him, and the Enderkin were completely ambivalent as to his arrival. Just as long as he didn’t get in the way. And he didn’t have any intention of being a nuisance. Only an observer.

But then, he got too close to the mainland. And bringing in foreign objects (other than himself) was the first mistake of many in hindsight. The End takes all. He didn’t mind his possessions being dragged away. There was always more paper, pens, and books back home and he had a very good memory (which even now he curses and screams and hyperventilates and would make another deal with _another_ devil to make it all go away.)

But then The End started to take things he actually needed. Like his eyes (which he’d grown quite fond of after the strange neighbor woman Zoey had complimented him on in passing). Those were important. He liked being able to see, even if his eyes played tricks sometimes. These new eyes were supposedly better. But now, the tricks were too real, and too frequent. Now, there were things there that the others couldn’t see. Now, the world was different from top to bottom and he didn’t like any of it one bit. Still the same, but with layers of consequences. For every moved divot of dirt, for every combusted creeper, for every new little shelter to stay the night, and every endless skyscraper. Digging a shallow moat or collapsing a miles long cavern made everything and everyone blaze with light and darkness and it made just looking around a disorienting affair.

The End took his corporeal form. Sure, the similar-looking body that was ironically in every way better than the previous one felt ‘good enough’, but it wasn’t the one he’d originally been born in. It wasn’t the one he’d spent years in. Cut, and scraped, and bled, and burned alive, and crushed, and killed with and been killed in. And now it didn’t feel or look quite right. This… this was someone, something, else. Another presence had been attached to him. And it came with a sense of hollowness. Like he was dragging around a puppet. Or wearing some kind of strange internal suit. Maybe like having an imaginary friend, if all that friend ever did was float behind you and glare and loathe, and silently push you to do things that you really didn’t want to like be angry and hurt people.

The End had certainly wanted to take his mind, but from previous experiments it realized it needed to leave something in order for there to be power, precision, and efficiency. Not too much. Just enough that what she allowed to roam could continue. So it could remember and not get too many ideas. There were already so many empty, obedient, powerless marionettes called ‘endermen’. But even then, The End is greedy. It wants everything, even things that it can never have, or comprehend, or control. But that’s where it messed up, and where things ultimately went very wrong. It made that sacrifice, and now there’s this very determined man who remembers, and is strong enough to fight. And has things to fight for. And finding new things every day. Like friends. And the cute, but very strange neighbor mushroom woman who liked his eyes, his ‘magic tricks’, and how she felt strange (“Safe!? Woman, are you mad- um.”) around him.

But The End is getting impatient now. His friends have seemed to have lost their minds to something other than The End. Ironically, their power corrupted them before The End was able to break him. Zoey sticks by even though danger becomes more and more prevalent and loud and menacing near him. Their mistakes and obliviousness have almost broken the world, and the few redeeming features of his contract were fading- no, fluctuating. He’s no weaker, just… different. And it’s confusing. And scary.

But not like closing his eyes, and seeing The End. She did this. All of it. And he’s alone. And she reminds him of this, and how easily she took everything from him the first time by ripping him into tiny pieces. And how she’ll enjoy finally getting those last bits. Maybe she’ll get the girl first. No, no. The ones who were once his friends. They’ll wise up and deliver him on a silver platter. Or maybe she’ll just bust through all at once, surprise everyone, and just lay waste to everything right in front of him. And then when everything’s been undone, and there’s nothing left of his world but ashes and darkness, then she can snatch him up, and he can struggle all he likes as the portal opens and really, there’s no point in staying atop a pile of burnt, salted earth. So he just gives up and just goes.

Rythian looked up at the loudly snoring form above him. She was starting to lose things too. An arm here. Some trust there. For being too close to him. Well, The End can’t have her. He picked up a little watch and tilted it towards the setting moon to see the time. Another night wasted. The End took those too. He fumbled blearily around in his trunk (“Sorry, this is my secret, Zoey. I promise it’s not bad.”) and pulled out a potion. He hated them, but better than her finding out the bad secrets. He tipped it and put his head down on his knees for a minute, as his body was healed and collected up by some force into moving. There was no energy in it. He’d need sleep for actual energy. This was just the ability to keep moving. Thankfully, Zoey had a talent for lending him life and energy, even in small doses, that he could carry on.


End file.
